


Filling the Empty Spaces

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it takes Neil being Neil, and Brad being Brad, and Tommy being Tommy to make Adam be, well, Adam. In other words, there is a time when even the HBIC loses sight of the big picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filling the Empty Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Adam/OMC  
>  **Disclaimer:** The following is nothing but lies. Lies, I tell you. Unless, you know, it's not.  
>  **Prereaders:** Red and SunShinyDay

Adam stands on the balcony of another hotel room, in another city, in another fucking country and listens to the rain. He watches the lightning dance across the sky and feels the heavy rumble of thunder move through the ground and up through his body. He smiles as the wind whips and pushes the cool mist of water past the protection of the overhang and into the tiny alcove he's claimed as his.

There's nothing as perfect as a summer storm rolling in across the ocean. So many forces colliding together to create a maelstrom of energy and sounds and sensations.

And then he laughs, bitter and hysterical and ironic. He laughs until he cries. Lets the sound get lost in the cacophony of the crash of the waves and the crack of lightning strikes and the booming bass of thunder and the tears fall in with the rivers and pools of the raindrops.

He finally has what he worked so fucking hard for – money and fame and fans – and yet he's in Bali, vacationing alone. Surrounded by his band – all of them friends, none of them lovers – but still empty and alone.

* * *

  
Adam stumbles to the car, tired and strung out and at least a little bit hungover. He hides behind big sunglasses and a worn baseball cap, does little more than grunt as he slides into the backseat. He doesn't know why they all have to go to the airport. It's Sasha's fucking girlfriend that's coming.

He ignores Lane's frown. Because, really, he knows that airports mean paps and paps mean pictures and that, yes, he looks like shit today. He turns away from Sasha's excited chatter to stare out the window and glares when Terrance runs a hand over his shoulder and Taylor sits too close.

Finally everyone catches on and just steps back, leaves him the fuck alone.

By the time they reach the airport, Adam has pulled himself together enough to force the stupidly fake, happy-go-lucky persona to the forefront. He smiles and waves, murmurs something about looking forward to a few days off – which is actually very fucking true – and then disappears behind the tinted glass of the car again.

He thinks maybe everyone is fooled, believing that he's just a little headachy from the rain and liquor last night. Until Neil leans in close and whispers, "Haven't seen acting that good since you broke mom's vase and blamed it on me."

Adam snorts and pushes Neil away. Should have known that fucker would see through the act.

* * *

  
Adam can feel Neil watching him. Hovering a few feet away, always close enough to step in and be a buffer between Adam and the _others_ : the band, the press, the fans, everyone. Somewhere over the past few weeks Neil has become the rational Lambert son.

Adam figures his Dad is getting a damn good laugh at that.

He knows he has to get his shit together. Has to find the balance that he had on the US leg of the tour. But it's just out of reach, taunting and teasing and driving Adam fucking crazy. "Spit it out, Neil."

"Found a club you might like," Neil says in lieu of things like _are you okay_ and _how can I help_. No one will ever mistake them for being a conventional family.

"A club I might like, or another one of Lane's 'reach out to the gay public' things?"

Neil slaps Adam on the back as he goes by. "I told you to tell her to fuck off. Not like anyone would have believed you went straight just because of the club, man."

Adam chuckles softly. "True. Tell me about this paradise club you found."

"Right on the shore, multiple dance floors, gay and straight mix, pop rock..." Neil arches a brow. "Interested?"

He needs to dance and drink and fuck. To have a night of fun that isn't centered on him being Adam Fucking Lambert. And it sounds like his baby brother has found just the place. "I'm not doing the whole package."

"Whatever, fucker. You've got an hour."

Adam's lip twitch, the corners quirking up into a real grin. "Then get the fuck outta here and let me work."

* * *

  
The club is everything Neil had promised and more than Adam had dared to hope for. There's a moment when they first get there with fans approaching, but then management steps in and the people back off and hours later Adam realizes he has a pretty good buzz going and he's sweating from dancing and, fucking hell, he's grinding against some twink, purposeful and happy and really, really horny. Been too long since the last one had this much appeal.

He makes his way off the dance floor and through the crowd and heads straight for the door, a tiny green-eyed cutie at his side. He's taking a chance. He knows this. The hook-up has the potential to blow up in his face with pics all over every gossip site out there. Something he should care about.

But he's thinking with his dick and could really give a fuck if John – or Jim or Jason or whatthefuckever – plans on selling out for the fifteen minutes of fame being Adam Lambert's vacation time fuck might bring.

The kid – Jeremy? – really is a stand-up guy. He hands Adam his cell phone before they make the hotel lobby and, when Adam says _Huh?_ , just shrugs and mutters about maybe Adam feeling freer if the damn thing was off limits. No pictures, no texts, no tweets.

Adam smiles and ups the pace of his long strides. Because, yeah, maybe he really will be able to work of some of his tension, lose the black cloud hanging over his head, without the whole fucking thing becoming fodder for Perez.

It takes minutes – very fast minutes – for Adam to get Justin (Jacob?) naked and sprawled across the bed. And then it's a blur of hot and _yes_ and sweaty and _more_ until Jake – maybe? – arches beneath Adam and comes.

Adam growls, tightens his grip on the guy's hips, and fucks into him. Hard and fast and almost dickishly selfish until he seizes up and, cock jerking, comes.

The condom gets lost over the edge of the bed and a wet washcloth finds its way into Adam's hands and then over Jarrett's – that doesn't even sound close to right – stomach and they both drift off to sleep.

In the morning, Adam takes the smirks and the friendly pokes in stride. Because, really, it's his own fault, not hustling the kid out before the rest of the crew stirred to life. He makes some noncommittal noise about maybe catching up at a club later that night or in the next few days and then, once the guy has hit the street, Adam drops into a chair and hides behind his sunglasses.

The immediate need for release is gone but the ache of loneliness is, if anything, bigger and harsher and more consuming than it was before. And he still can't remember the kid's name.

* * *

  
"Dude, what the hell was that this morning?"

Adam scoots over, makes room for Tommy's skinny ass next to him on the chaise, and shrugs. "Last night's fuck."

"Umhum," Tommy murmurs, never once looking over at Adam. "He gotta name?"

"I'm sure his mother gave him one."

Tommy snorts and shakes his head. "Not your style, rockstar."

"Yeah, well, neither is having a month old case of blue balls." Adam tosses a hand in a careless wave and drains the fruity drink the waiter brought out earlier. "I'm..."

"Refusing to see what is right in front of your face under the guise of being noble or some shit." Tommy slaps a hand down on Adam's thigh and uses it to leverage to a stand. "You're losing it, Lambert. This shit... this shit is hard. Touring is no joke. And you're balls to the wall, full throttle pushing it. Like a fucking maniac on coke." Tommy leans in close, lips pressing against Adam's ear, "But know this, you're not made to be celibate and alone. Grow a pair, man, and step up. Look at where you are, where you're going, and who you want to take with you."

Then Tommy walks away. Leaving the ball firmly in Adam's court. Again.

And Adam lets Tommy walk away.

Again.

* * *

  
"Come on, Brad. Let it fucking go." Adam glares at the computer screen and wonders just why the fuck he thought Skyping Brad had been a good idea. He could always see beyond Adam's words and into the very fucking soul of the matter.

"Tell me why you have not fucked him. Tell me."

Brad's voice is laced with static and the picture is lagging behind the words and Adam has had a few too many of the icy fruit concoctions that apparently contain more liquor than he'd realized and all of a sudden he's spilling his fucking guts.

"Because I'm his boss, and he likes to fuck girls, and what if it fails." Deep down Adam knows, _knows_ his fear of failure is what has kept him basically single since splitting with Brad. Drake was... Drake was a good time that was going nowhere near permanent. They both knew it going in. "Have you thought about that? He's part of my band – is a huge part of Glam Nation. Breaking up would shatter so much. It's not like..."

"Not like us." Brad finishes for him, smirking and smiling with his eyes all soft and knowing.

"I hate you."

"Of course you do, Poppet."

"I really hate you." Adam drops his head back against the couch and groans. "Brad, what the fuck am I gonna do?"

Brad chuckles, low and throaty and full of real humor. "Like your valley boy said, baby. Step up. You're worried about what might happen if you take the chance, but tell me, my darling HBIC, what's gonna happen if you don't?"

Adam lifts his head and stares at Brad, eyes going wide and then narrowing. "Fuck you, Bradley Bell. Just fuck you."

And then with a harsh poke of his finger, Adam disconnects from Skype and struggles to a stand. He needs to go out. Maybe find the little green-eyed twink again. Boy was at least a good lay.

* * *

  
Adam stops and introduces Jamie to everyone the next morning, looking pointedly at Tommy when he says the name. All he gets in return is the same bland look Tommy uses in his signing pics and a toast of the orange juice glass. A very unrewarding reaction to say the least.

He escorts Jamie to the front desk, waits until the cab pulls beneath the canopy and then steps back, giving another noncommittal grunt about hooking up again before Jamie flies out. The kid is hot but... but this vacation fucking around is doing nothing to improve Adam's mood, lack of blue balls aside.

* * *

  
Brad's comment is still tumbling through his head when he, snatching the last of Tommy's juice, says, "Hey, Neil, got some time for me today?"

Neil stares at Adam. Opens his mouth and then snaps it shut and then, nodding once, says, "Sure. Now good?"

They're barely out of the restaurant when Adam asks, "You think Tommy might quit the band?"

"Huh?" Neil stops short and then, looking around, grabs Adam's arm and drags him out a side door and to a set of loungers by the pool. "Explain. From the beginning. Using actual sentences and facts that make sense."

For once Adam doesn't bristle under Neil's heavy gaze and the demand for information. He tells him all about the flirty exchanges – offstage – and the kissing – again, offstage – and how that led to cuddles and movies and a couple of close encounters of the frottage kind. And he tells Neil how, the night before the Canadian concert, he fell asleep with his head in Tommy's lap and how the next morning they'd kicked around the idea of dating and...

"And you fucked it up."

Adam glares from behind his sunglasses. "No, I did not fuck it up. I told him we needed to not go there. That there was too much..."

"And he still lets you mack on him on stage? Really?" Neil shakes his head. "How the actual fuck does that even work?"

"I dunno," Adam sighs.

"It doesn't. All it did is make you," Neil frowns and waves a hand up and down in Adam's direction, "this mopey, bitchy thing. And now has you talking about Tommy quitting the band. Which, if it was me, I wouldn't have stayed this long." He stands up, pulls his sunglasses off, and pins Adam with a look of disgust. "I've been _nice_ because you're being a fucking chicken shit? So much for Planet Fierce, huh?"

Without another word, Neil crosses the pool deck and disappears into the building. And Adam is left sitting there, mouth gaping like a fish.

* * *

  
Adam avoids Tommy for the rest of the day. He works out with Terrance, practices the new choreography with the dancers, walks along the beach alone. Anything to keep from having his world twisted more by the blond tornado he hired for bass.

When he stumbles across a dive bar not listed on any of the tour pamphlets, he goes in and asks for a shot of tequila. And then he gets another. And another. Until the bartender just leaves the bottle within Adam's reach and bowl of limes at his elbow.

Six shots in, he thinks about calling his mom, and shelves the idea just as fast. She loves Tommy. At times he thinks she loves Tommy more than she loves either of her two _real_ sons. And why wouldn't she... "Because Tommy is easy to love."

Adam hears the words he just murmured and, squeezing his eyes shut, drops his head to the bar. "Fuck my life. Really, Lambert? Really?"

"Dude, you need a cab or something?"

Adam focuses bleary eyes on the bartender and shakes his head. "I need a fucking brain transplant."

"What, man?"

"Nothing, nothing." Throwing too many bills onto the bar top, Adam stumbles back outside and starts making his way up the beach and back to his hotel. All the while muttering about Libras and bi-boys and falling in love like some fucking idiot.

* * *

  
"Figured it out, did you?"

Adam shoots the finger towards the webcam. "Shut up."

"If you don't want me talk, why the fuck are you bugging me on Skype? And, fuck, how drunk are you?"

He rolls his head back towards the webcam. "Pretty drunk. There was a bar and tequila and the guy just left the bottle there for me. Almost called Mom."

Brad's snort is almost calming for Adam. "You'd have been hearing that story at holidays for the next ten years."

"That's what stopped me."

"Liar."

Adam gives him the finger again.

"Say it out loud, Adam. Make it real so you can deal with it."

"It won't change anything." Tommy will still be Tommy and Adam will still be afraid of everything Tommy represents.

"Only if you don't let it." Brad props his head up with hand. "Come on, say it, Adam. I really have shit other than nursing you through your insanity to do."

"I can't."

"Baby, look at me." Brad is quiet until Adam's eyes open and focus on the computer. " _We_ hurt each other. _Us._ With words and deeds. Our choices. It wasn't the love that hurt, Adam, it was our inability to handle it."

"Brad..."

"Say it."

Adam stares at the monitor, minutes ticking off the clock slowly. Brad silently waits.

"I love him."

Brad gives Adam a wistful smile and nods. "You do, Poppet. Now you need to tell him that."

* * *

  
It's well into the afternoon when Adam wakes, head throbbing and phone ringing and someone banging on the door. "Hold on, goddamn. Just stop."

Miraculously, the ringing and banging stop at the same time. Not so miraculously, the room tilts sideways when he stands up. "Fuck."

It's slow moving but, one hand holding his head, Adam finally wrenches the door open. "Neil."

"Good, you're alive," Neil says with a nod and steps back from the door.

"What the fuck, Neil. You woke me up for that?" Adam grimaces. Talking is just as bad for his head as the banging had been.

"Tommy was worried."

"Tommy?" Adam feels the blush move from his cheeks to his neck and down to his chest.

"Yeah." Neil turns around and smirks. "But I got voted to check on you just in case, you know, _Jamie_ made a reappearance."

The blush staining Adam's skin darkens. "No, all alone last night."

"And all the drunker for it. Get it together, Adam. We've got two days left and then it's back to the real world."

He watches Neil walk away before quietly shutting the door and stumbling to the shower.

* * *

  
Sunglasses and big floppy hat on, Adam makes his way to the beach a couple of hours before sunset. He asks the waiter for orange juice and a glass of water. As impossible as it seems, he still feels drunk from the tequila. Or maybe the conversation with Brad. The conversation that he was sadly sober enough to remember. In vivid detail.

He thinks maybe he will call his mom today. Not to cry on her shoulder but to start earning back the title of the good son. Then Tommy sits down on the lounge across from him and all other thoughts flee. "Hey, why so far away?"

Tommy shrugs. "Been doing a lot of thinking."

"And?"

"And, maybe," Tommy darts a quick look at Adam and then focuses on his beer again. "Maybe we need to back off on stage."

"What? Why?"

Tommy shrugs again. "Because I don't have a theater background and only having it, you, your attention for a few minutes during shows is not working for me."

"Tommy..."

"No, look." Tommy stands up and, facing the beach, says, "I get it, okay. You have your reasons, fucked as they may be. I get that we work together. I get that I held back on the whole bi thing. I get that you don't want..."

Adam swallows. Now. He needs to say it now. "I do."

"What?"

Adam scoots over and pats the space beside him. "Sit down?"

Instead of leaning back, like he would have done just the day before, Tommy perches on the lounge chair. "I'm sitting."

"The work thing worries me." Adam holds up a hand when Tommy starts to say something. "But that's not the reason I said no."

"Twice."

Adam nods. "Twice."

"When Brad and I broke up, it almost killed me. Well, I almost killed me." Adam reaches out and traces a finger over Tommy's thigh, trailing the pattern stitched along Tommy's trunks. "And as much as I talk about love in the show, after that whole thing with Brad – the intensity of being together, the craziness of breaking up – anything that even resembles love... well, I just head the other way from it."

"Drake..."

"Was a fun time to offset some of the wilder pictures that leaked while I was on Idol." Adam laughs softly. "We're friends. We dated and fucked. But both of us knew it was just a fling. Saved my ass with the voting public, made his art debut bigger."

Tommy's head jerks up and he looks at Adam with wide, wild eyes. "Are you fucking me?"

"Obviously not or this conversation wouldn't be happening." Adam flashes a wry grin. "I think we do need to have this conversation, though."

"Yeah, sounds like." Tommy scoots a little further back on the chaise. Still not reclining, but also not leaving a foot of space between himself and Adam. "So you said no because..."

"Because I thought if I kept you as just a friend you wouldn't be able to break me."

Tommy frowns and then nods. "So, stopping the stagey shit is, like, a good thing."

"No."

"Huh?" Tommy shakes his head and then looks at Adam. Really _looks_ at Adam. It's the first time he's focused for more than a second or two today. "No?"

Adam shakes his head. "No. You know, I got shitfaced drunk last night and Skyped Brad."

"Hell, no." Tommy shoves at Adam's leg. Hard. "You cannot just say no and then start talking about Brad again."

"I'm explaining."

"Not doing too good of a job about it," Tommy grumbles.

"So I Skyped Brad and you want to know what I figured out?"

When Tommy doesn't answer, Adam nudges him with his knee. "Do you?"

"What?"

Adam smiles softly. "I figured out that arm's length wasn't far enough. That somehow, even without the _relationship_ , I was just as invested. That if you walked away from me right now I'd be just as lost, just as torn."

Tommy stares at Adam, his eyes intent and searching. "I won't ask again, Adam."

"You won't have to."

Adam pats the empty space beside him again, smiling when Tommy sets his beer in the sand and then lays back, curling himself into Adam's side, whispering, "Almost sunset."

With a kiss to Tommy's forehead, Adam says, "And we've got the best seat in the house."

* ♥ *


End file.
